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A Lie to Cover a Lie [entries|friends|calendar]
With a long E, as in Evil

Evelyn Nash
big ideas. little motivation.
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I've Moved! [31 Dec 2020|12:00pm]

I'm now blogging at my own domain, Unapologetically Mundane!

If you'd like to continue reading me via your LiveJournal Friends page, please add my syndication.

If you'd like to add me to your RSS reader (I recommend Google Reader, of course), you can add my feed.
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I'm, Like, a Seriously Famous Movie Star: Part II [30 Jun 2008|04:28pm]

So remember how I auditioned for a movie? Well, I filmed my scenes a couple of months ago, and it was fun, and the casting director was all, "We love your look, and we'll keep you in mind for future roles," but I totally didn't believe him.

But then he called me today and offered me an extra part in "Lipstick Jungle"! How spectacularly trashy, right? The fact that I couldn't be more dissimilar to any of those women nor any less interested in the show makes me SURE that they just called me to ensure that I'll at least watch one episode of it in my lifetime.

It does make me wonder, though, how many bit parts it takes to add up to a real part.
26 comments|post comment

[23 Jun 2008|02:43pm]

Wanna know why spaghedeity (formerly of ael88 fame) is the best LJ Friend ever? He talked real nice to someone and got my blog's LJ syndication changed so that it has this neat little row of links at the end of each entry that shows how many comments I have thus far and gives you the opportunity to add me to Digg, del.icio.us, and StumbleUpon (not that you'd have any reason to). AWESOME!

This is also a good time for me to mention that if you previously added my blog to the RSS reader of your choice, you may want to delete it and re-add it using this link or the big fat RSS button on the sidebar of my blog (but NOT the one that shows up in your address bar!). That'll allow the row of links to show up in my entries on your reader, which is handy for seeing if there might be any comments you'd want to read.

Does that make sense?
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Reminder 2 of 3 [13 May 2008|04:06pm]

I am no longer evelynnash. I am Unapologetically Mundane.

Please add my LJ syndication to your Friends list, and my new blog entries will show up just like normal LJ entries. I can't tell who's added it and who hasn't (only the number of people who have), so don't feel pressured just because we're friends, and don't feel embarrassed if you're stalking me.

I'll still be commenting on your entries as evelynnash, but I won't be posting here unless I have something super-personal to say, so add the syndication or RISK LOSING OUR FRIENDSHIP 4-EVA.
10 comments|post comment

Important Bizness [06 May 2008|02:15pm]

• • • THIS IS IMPORTANT BIZNESS (albeit maybe only to me) • • •


It's my blog. Please don't hate me.

Lately, more of my friends and co-workers have been asking me about my journal, and I've been sort of reluctant to give out the address, because when I do, the response is always one of two:

1) "What's LiveJournal?", or
2) "Isn't that for melodramatic teenagers?"

Some of my friends have said that they don't feel comfortable reading my journal because it feels like a community that they're not a part of–a bunch of logged-in readers with journals of their own. I'm hoping that this will draw them in. I'm also hoping that enough of them will be drawn in that I'll eventually become more than a blogger, whatever that may mean.

I'm not leaving LJ behind completely, either. Although WordPress allows for password-protected entries, it's much easier to just post Friends Only here if there's something I don't want my whole office knowing. I'm definitely going to keep reading all of your entries, and I hope you won't entirely revolt against me.

The ever-indulging spaghedeity has helpfully set up a syndication that you can add to your Friends list so my entries will pop up as if my blog was a LiveJournal. They won't include my userpic or formatting, and you have to click through to the blog itself for me to be able to see your comments, but I think it'll be worth the hassle in the end. I understand if you don't.

spaghedeity asked me to post nekkid pictures of him in return for his help, but since I want to keep all of the ones he sent me to myself, I'll just say this instead: Aaron is great! Aaron is a really nice friend! You should pay Aaron compliments! Mostly so he will do neat things for you, too! Hooray for Aaron!

I still have plenty to fix on the site, but I wanted to go ahead and start using it to give me some motivation to work on it. Go take a look around and tell me how much you hate it.
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OMGpleasedropoutalready [06 May 2008|10:39am]

Kamran and Katie eat pigs-in-a-blanket from the local trailer trash bar for dinner while watching "The O’Reilly Factor". Kamran says, "Did you hear that Hillary was rooting for Eight Belles? She told everyone to 'bet on the filly'." Katie responds, "That makes me almost glad it had to be euthanized." Kamran shows Katie the Delegate Calculator slider thingy that's only fun if you hate Hillary (and you do).

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East Meets Midwest [02 May 2008|11:44am]

How kind of all of you–or, you know, two of you–to ask to see the Time Out New York submission that's going to grant me all the fame I can handle. Because you know I was dying to share it.

Dear TONY,

Have you ever found yourself–a corn-fed farmgirl from smalltown Ohio living in the midwestern enclave that is Williamsburg–avoiding all of the hip joints your white friends recommend because you think Asian culture is where the action is? I have, and that's why I'm calling my "How long can you go?" entry East Meets Midwest.


We'd start out the day at Jing Fong, naturally, and you'd be happy to share pork and vegetable dumplings with me, because you don't like shrimp in your dim sum, either. We'd talk about how cuttlefish sound totally cute, and you'd spend the rest of the day calling me that as a term of endearment.

Next would be Sakura Matsuri at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, where we'd take a ridiculous number of pictures of ourselves looking innocent–no, coy–beneath the cherry blossoms. We'd stick around for a photo-op with the sushi pillow, and if I'm lucky, you'll buy us matching ones to take home and remember each other by.

Lunch would be at Sakae Sushi in the Chrysler Building, because not only is fish from a conveyor belt an awesome novelty that I'm not ashamed to love, but they have tempura ice cream and chicken dishes covered in cheese, forgod'ssake.

In the afternoon, we'd make our way to Union Square for the 2 p.m. showing of Jump, and every single person in the audience would be white and midwestern, so I'd feel right at home.

Because you're too cheap to buy me souvenirs there, we'd head to Pearl River for erasers shaped like fast food, tiny Buddhas in pervy poses, and bags of whole dried fish that you'd happily chow down on while I made squeamish faces.

Dinner would be at Yakitori Torys, where you would eat skewers and skewers of soft knee bone, while I'd take advantage of your cash and fill up on kobe beef tongue. We'd share the steamed vegetables and be amazed at what wasabi mayonnaise can do for carrots.

We'd follow dinner with dessert at Kyotofu, because we're way above the Pinkberry post-hype. I'd have the Frozen Maple Soy Parfait, and you'd allow me the suggested sake pairing, because we're close that way.

Next would be drinks underground at Decibel, and I wouldn't be afraid to keep up with you, because I know you'd never take advantage of me.

Since we'd be inhibition-free at that point, we'd rent out a private room at Sing-Sing (the one on Ave. A, obviously), and I would karaoke more Heart and Pat Benetar than you thought possible. AND YOU WOULD LIKE IT.

We'd go to The Park for a little dancing by the bamboo, if you insisted, but I'm serious about that karaoking, and I could do it alllllllll night long.

Although I'd be willing to stop if you wanted some okonomiyaki from Oh! Taisho, and I'd use my camera to videotape the dried fish skin topping as it contracts in the heat.


Oh, TONY, we'd have so much fun together. And we wouldn't even have to speak with offensive faux-Chinese accents all night if you didn't want to. I'm all about compromise and making this relationship work.


Thank you to Sonya for pointing me to the contest and believing in me, and thank you to bootsinrain for introducing me to the idea of Williamsburg as a midwestern enclave. 'Cause it totally is. But it's still hip, so shut up.
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I'm sort of the famousest person you know. [01 May 2008|07:54pm]

You guys! Not only are you officially going to see me in the next Meryl Streep/Amy Adams film, but I got an e-mail this afternoon telling me that out of all the 8 million people in New York City, the ginormous magazine Time Out New York has chosen ME (and two insignificant others) for a 24-hour city-wide adventure THIS SATURDAY!

Naturally, it was the last three words that really caught my eye. IhopetheylikemeIhopetheylikemeIhopetheylikeme!
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I'm only mad that she's not marrying ME. [28 Apr 2008|10:34am]

Saturday night while I was bowling, my best friend Tracey texted me to say, "I'll be up late if you want to call me when you're done!" When what she really meant was, "OMG OMG CALL ME NOW YOU STUPID WHORE BECAUSE I'M DYING TO TELL YOU THAT I JUST GOT ENGAGED!!!!!"

So after weeks of badmouthing her boyfriend for spending money on DVDs and flatscreen monitors when he needed to be saving up for a ring, it turned out that he already had the perfect white gold princess cut number and had been saving it for the right moment. That moment was oddly when Tracey was at work in the science museum and no one was around to videotape any of it for best friends and future generations, but we'll forgive Dan for that based solely on his clever use of a Nintendo DS in his proposal. Because we are nerds.

So please join me in congratulating the smartest, funniest, most generous girl I know and her geekily romantic sweetheart on their engagement.

Why, yes, that is an Applebee's box that Dan changed to say Applebutts.

And please remind them that all plans should be based on my availability and that I can't afford to come home for a fifth wedding this year.
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Sonya can rent a car like the big girls now. [21 Apr 2008|03:49pm]

The greatest fun in living in a city where the majority of restaurants are tiny, unreplicable, and authentic is choosing to eat at a chain, which is exactly what we did for my friend Sonya's quarter-century birthday the weekend before last. She'd been craving teppanyaki for weeks but hadn't wanted to spend the money, and her birthday gave her the perfect opportunity to make her boyfriend Adam pick up the tab at Benihana. And we felt okay about it, you know, because the very first Benihana was in NYC. So shut up.

Kamran stocked up for the evening all baller-like,

and then we met Sonya, Adam, and Adam's co-workers/couple-friends Dave and Sarah at the restaurant,

Look at Adam's tongue hanging out!

where Kamran immediately filled me up with some crazy blue liquor so I'd quit talking about how much he hated the green pleated shirt Sonya and I had bought for me to wear especially for the occasion the night before. Sonya told us that in other parts of the country, the chefs–though obviously not Japanese–are forced to adopt Asian-sounding names just for show. Our chef for the evening was very not-Japanese and had the not-Japanese name Romeo, which very well could have been made up, too, but he used it to his advantage and cooked us up this very romantic rice heart:

He slid his spatula under the middle section and pushed it up and down to make the heart look like it was beating, which made all the girls' hearts flutter. He flipped shrimp into the top of his cap and threatened to flip some at me when he could see how grossed out I was by seafood, but I totally ate the ones that he grilled for us out of guilt. Kamran and I each had a Rocky's Choice, which was hibachi steak and chicken with soup, salad, vegetables and this garlic butter chicken rice that could have been a meal within itself. Sonya got a bowl of birthday ice cream on the house and offered it up to everyone, but the four of them were all, "Oh, no, we're waaaay too full for that." Kamran and I, on the other hand, were like, "Excuse me, waitress, but our meals are supposed to come with ice cream, and we want to be as fat as possible, so please bring it to us double-time."

We decided to head downtown to get Sonya drunker, and while we waited for the subway, various naughty things involving Kamran's super-sharp umbrella took place, including but not limited to what Sonya refers to as "the pimp picture",

and this, which should probably never be mentioned again:

We got to The Back Room at 11, and after taking an unmarked set of stairs down to a tunnel, walking through an alley, and taking another flight of stairs up again, we finally made it inside the place, which is shticky with Victorian speakeasy charm.

The idea is that it's still the 1920s and Prohibition is in full effect, so drinks are served in teacups and brown paper bags,

and the Asian folks aren't in internment camps yet, so everyone's merry (except Adam):

The plan was to get Dave wasted enough that he wouldn't mind going dancing, because he's not so into grinding up against strangers for reasons that DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE TO ME. But of course it was Sonya and me who got there first, as evidenced by this

and this


which we took with the bouncer who was guarding the secret bookshelf-disguised door to the back room where owner Tim Robbins and all of his famous friends hang out. This guy in a prep school sweater kept shaking hands with the bouncer and slipping him folded bills in unknown denominations, but the bouncer kept denying him, and we kept making snide comments about him until our teacups were empty.

We got to Ruff Club (no, seriously, that's what it's called . . . !!!) at midnight, and it was their second anniversary, so there were loads of people standing in line in fishnets and white shoes. We took our place at the end, and then a kid behind us asked, "Do you guys know what this place is like?" I said, "It's worth the wait." Even though I'd never been there before. We stood for maybe ten minutes in the rain, which resulted in this super-homosexual picture of Kamran protecting Adam's glorious hair:

Sonya and I had been shopping all week so we could compete with this and this and this, but after that ten minutes, the bouncers started separating girls and boys into two different lines so the girls could go in first, and we didn't want to leave our boyfriends behind, so we ended up going to another unmarked bar. And despite the inclusion of songs by the likes of The Notorious B.I.G. and Sophie B. Hawkins, we danced and danced and danced until the sun came up. Or, you know, until, like, 2 a.m.
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More Fun with Boyfriend Obsession [18 Apr 2008|10:48am]

This is skin
You can wrap all of your arms and legs in
An address that you know
An envelope unfolds

Tokyo Police Club, "Centennial"
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I don't think his nose looks like this much of a penis in real life. [14 Apr 2008|10:32am]

Dear Kamran,

This morning on my way to the subway, I saw three businessmen about your age walking back to their office from getting coffee together. Their hair was too slick, their ties too professional, their pants too tight. (And their backsides were nowhere near as fine as yours, not that I looked.) They shouldered timid pedestrians and gestured with the overconfidence of salesmen and talked loud enough about their weekend homes and trophy wives and end-of-winter ski trips that the entire sidewalk shared in their self-loathing. And I thought for the four millionth time how lucky I was to have found the most (the only?) successful, humble, sensitive, hilarious, generous boy in the tri-state area (the world?).

You are the right amount of everything.

25 comments|post comment

oooHiooo [03 Apr 2008|01:11pm]

Tonight at 8:40, I leave on a plane for Ohio. My plans are as follows:

Tonight: My second-best friend from high school, Mike, his wife, Jessica, and our friend Jonathan will pick me up at the airport at 11 p.m. and take me to Skully's for Alternative Ladies 80s, where we will meet my first-best friend, Tracey, and dance so hard. She and I will hopefully make out with all of our ex-boyfriends who happen to be there, not tell our current boyfriends, and spend the rest of our lives bound by our secret.

Friday: Tracey and I will wake up early and go shopping for our stupid pregnant friend Katie's stupid baby shower, even though we both hate the idea of having children and hate Katie for ensuring that all of our conversations with her from now on will be child-centered. Then we will drink smoothies with Tracey's mom and slop pigs with my dad, because we are from the country.

Friday night: I will go to a rehearsal dinner for my grandmother's wedding. That's right. My grandmother's wedding.

Saturday: I will attend my grandmother's wedding. I will remind her that my grandfather hasn't even been dead two years, because his sister (my great-aunt)–who isn't invited to the wedding because of a long-standing feud between the two of them (awesome!)–still loves him despite the feud, thinks my grandmother is a hussy for remarrying, and will reward me handsomely in her will to tell my grandmother so. I will also remind her that I spent $300 on a plane ticket for the occasion and that she'd better make it up to me in my Christmas present this year. I will gossip about the family with my sister, say for the thousandth time that it's a shame I don't get to see my cousins more, and wear shoes that no one will approve of but that everyone expect from me because I live in New York City now.

Saturday night: I will karaoke my little heart out, if someone gets their shit together and figures out the name of that one Japanese restaurant we used to go to in college. I will sing so much Heart and Pat Benatar that feathered bangs will actually come back into style.

Sunday: I will go to my friend-since-birth Katie's baby shower with Tracey. I will not be happy about it. Not because I hate children but because we're too damned young for this sort of thing. Now all parties at their house will involve some kid crawling around on the floor, we'll all have to keep our drinking in check to ensure we don't step on it, and Katie's husband will probably become all responsible and upright and stop posing for lewd pictures with me on their pool table. I'm so pumped to see Katie looking all fat, though. And I will make plenty of snide comments about her weight to prove it. (Kidding! Love you, Katie!)


Monday: Hopefully I will eat pizza with ex-boyfriend Todd at the pizza place that only he and I like out of everyone in the entire state of Ohio. I will try not to mention Kamran too much, and he will try not to touch my vagina (but will fail!). And then he will hopefully drop me off at the airport, because my dad has to drive to Indiana to pick up the new field cultivator he found using this newfangled thing called the Internet that he just signed up for a couple of weeks ago. Whee!

Monday night: I'll return "home".
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Burble Glurble Murble [31 Mar 2008|10:48am]

No, seriously, I swear that I actually find this sexy:

I especially love that my camera has no idea how to focus on that nonsense.
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Let It Be [26 Mar 2008|10:03am]

When I find myself
In times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom,

27 comments|post comment

SUPERSTAR! [25 Mar 2008|09:59am]

Late Saturday night, I was cruising the craigslist jobs section with the hope of figuring out where my life is headed, when I came across the following ad:

Grant Wilfley Casting is seeking Extras for the feature film "Julie and Julia" starring Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, and Stanley Tucci. We are seeking the following:

French and European-looking people for scenes set in Paris circa 1950.
Seeking men and women with 1950s hair. (Men should have short, neatly-trimmed hair and women with chin- or shoulder-length hair. Pixie hair cuts are also good. Or must be willing to have hair cut by the productions stylist. Must have natural colored hair, no highlights. Seeking all ages.
Men and women must be comfortable smoking on set and/or being around smoke. We are looking for the men to be 5'10 and shorter and the women to be 5'6" and shorter.

Please resond with a current candid photo or snapshot, not just a headshot. Also include your sizes and the best number to reach you. If you don't fit these requirements, are not comfortable smoking or are not willing to have you hair cut, please do not respond.

I would of course never call myself anything less than 5'7", but figuring that this was maybe the only time that my boyshort hair would be considered desirable, I decided to give up a piece of my self-respect and give it a shot. I wrote an e-mail describing my pixie cut that grows into fat sausage curls when allowed and of course included this photo, 'cause nothing's more 1950s Paris than a sleeping bag coat:

I imagined that I'd never hear from the casting agency, since I have no experience with this sort of thing and don't exactly scream with movie star good looks, but lo and behold, a guy named Rich left me a voicemail yesterday with his cell number and asked me to call him back to schedule an "audition". When I did, he asked me to describe my hair as it is and asked if I would be open to having it cut. I naturally told him, "You can shave it off if you want to." He asked if I'm okay with smoking and being around smoke, and I laughed as if I've been smoking all my life. He asked me to come in on Friday to have some pictures taken and to have a chat. Whee!

I started planning what I'd wear–the cape, of course, and maybe this black-and-white polka-dotted dress

with a pair of not-at-all 50s pointy boots–but then I got sidetracked with worrying about the possibility of having to smoke at my audition. I've had a cigarette in my mouth all of two times in my life, and although I certainly thought it was amusing to hold it the European way those times, I'm not sure I looked very suave doing it. And sure I've spent plenty of hours smoking candy cigarettes with trrrracey, but I don't know if it translates to the real thing.

With all of the worry comes all of the excitement, though. I've pretty much spent my entire life in school plays and church programs and a little local theatre, and I've always imagined that I'd become famous somehow, but I've never actually considered doing anything to make it happen proactively. But suddenly, I'm thinking things like, I should quit my job and start temping so I can easily take days off for casting calls! I'm reading other ads for extras that say things like "not a speaking part but will look good on your reel" and thinking, Yeah! I need to get to work on my reel! I of course don't really know what a reel is.

I've realised that it must be terribly heartbreaking being an actor, because this guy hasn't promised me a thing, and I'm already planning my new life as the next Meryl Streep. I don't at all expect to actually get hired–either my look or my job will get in the way, I imagine–but I also feel like I'll be really let down if I don't. I'm hungry for superstardom.
26 comments|post comment

I am not the least bit Irish. [20 Mar 2008|04:28pm]

When you're a Persian, a Korean, and a German, you naturally spend your St. Patrick's Day eating . . .


My co-worker Sonya met Kamran and me for dinner on Monday night at Yakitori Torys for what has become our new favorite thing: random meats, skewered and dunked in sweet sauce for grilling. We've been going to a place in the East Village called Oh! Taisho regularly now since Sonya introduced us to it, but after knocking out all of the chicken gizzards and french-fries-dipped-in-cod-roe and other such nonesense there, we thought we were ready to try some softened chicken bones at Torys. That's right; softened, grilled chicken bones. No meat. Just bones. Delish.

The place was full, so we got to sit at this table in the middle of the room that had a frame built around it and curtains covering it from all sides. We started off with a bowl of shredded chicken with bitter melon and fish flakes, and once I got past the fact that I was eating dried fish when I don't even eat wet fish, I really enjoyed the saltiness that it added to the chicken. And after biting into the bitter melon, Kamran and I ruminated on the fact that even as twentysomethings, we can experience a taste that's brand new to us. They were already sold out of a lot of the limited dishes, so unfortunately there were no chicken knees to be had, but we filled up on skewers and skewers of kobe beef tongue and pork with scallions and chicken with plum sauce and shishito peppers. Even better than all of those, though, were the steamed vegetables with wasabi mayonnaise and green tea salt. And my figurative hat is off to any restaurant that can make me like steamed anything. Kamran picked up our $100 tab, naturally, 'cause that's just how he rolls.

There was a whole lot of carryin'-on in the streets that Sonya wouldn't let us go home without adding to, so we stepped into a bar called the Pig n Whistle on 3rd for an Irish Car Bomb drank in time to a cheesy pop song, with me shouting slurred commands in the background:

I particularly love hearing myself saying, "Lefth guh! Lefth guh!" at the beginning. And, uh, I'd only had about two sips of my drink at that point. But at least I didn't hold a squishface at the end of the video like Sonya did, thinking I was taking a picture rather than a video.

Here, Kamran and Sonya show the curdled remnants of their bombing

and then Sonya . . . gives me cheekwings? attempts to make me drink her curds? I have no idea.

Sonya shows off her green

and I show off my tongue

yet despite these shenanigans, Kamran thinks we need one more.

And then we spend the rest of the night trying to decide who's drunker.

I win the contest when he finds me on my back in his bed, giggling and kicking the air. Hooray for fake holidays!
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Hurts So Good [19 Mar 2008|10:07am]


: Apparently it's named for Luther Vandross, who apparently loved these.
me: OMG!
Kamran: Do you understand what's going on there?
me: Is that sausage or beef? 'Cause sausage would ALMOST make sense to me.
Kamran: Beef. It's a hamburger.
me: Bacon and cheese?
Kamran: Hamburger with bacon and cheese on a glazed donut bun.
me: Should we try it?
Kamran: No. Luther Vandross is dead.
me: Yes, but . . . I want to die having lived a full life, Kamran.
Kamran: A full life doesn't require a hamburger with a glazed donut bun. Just like it doesn't require shooting up heroin.
me: Then what DOES it require, huh?
Kamran: Might feel good, but it fucks you up.
me: Kinda like my love.
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I take back my apology to the trannies. [07 Mar 2008|09:28am]

So we're really not the only ones who think Lindsay Lohan looks like a man in that Marilyn Monroe photoshoot:

"The slinky Lindsay said she did 250 crunches the night before her shoot. Well, I did 250 Nestlé Crunches." – Michael Musto.

Thanks to trrrracey for the link.
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In Which Kamran Dips His Hand in Poo [04 Mar 2008|04:03pm]

February 1st, 11 a.m.

Kamran: oh god katie
my worst nightmare just came true
my phone fell in the toilet :(
I feel woozy
i seriously feel nauseous. i might cry.
please don't tell anybody
It's still working?
Kamran: i dont think so
it's wrapped in paper towels in my drawer right now
it's making funny colors. i dont think it's working
me: Ahh, geez.
What happened?
Kamran: it was in my pocket, apparently not deep enough. when i stood up to zip up, it fell out and into the toilet
i fished it out (dear god) and dried it off with toilet paper. then i washed my hands fifty times
me: I feel so bad!
Kamran: me too
i cant even get my numbers and stuff off of it. they're all lost
my life has been rebooted
the pics you sent, my chess record
me: Wow.
Kamran: Give me your phone number
i quite literally feel like throwing up ...
me: I know just how you feel.
Kamran: oh yea?
me: When a story I've been working on gets deleted, when my hard drive has crashed, etc.
Kamran: yea. when you've had to fish your phone out of a bowl of your own shit
do you think i can get a new phone with service and everything over my lunch break, or is that too ambitious?
me: I think you can. Easily.
Kamran: so i'd have a working phone this afternoon?
me: Yes.
Kamran: and i wouldnt need to take my old one in
me: Why not?
Kamran: because it was in a bowl of my shit
and i'd rather not carry it around
me: Well, I'd say you might want to bring it in case there's a warranty.
Kamran: i'm too embarrassed to explain it
why it's wrapped in paper towels
i should just suck it up and consider it a $300 lesson
that fucking sucks
What a dumbass i am
me: Don't feel that way. Could've happened to anyone.
Kamran: besides, i doubt the warranty covers this
me: If there's a warranty, it covers anything that you might do to it.
I know people who have run over their phones with their cars just to get a new one.
Kamran: wouldn't i need to go home and check the box and stuff?
or would they do it just based on the phone itself
even though it doesnt turn on
me: Yep, if it won't turn on, that's probably grounds for getting a new one.
Kamran: what a fucking hassle
me: Just tell them that you dropped it in water.
Kamran: yea, i will
meantime, i'll cringe every time they or I have to touch it

Later That Afternoon

Kamran: i should probably take the battery out of my old phone before i throw it away, right?
i dont really want to touch it though
not to keep the battery or anything, but just in case it's a fire hazard or something
meh, i guess if it was going to blow up, it probably would have by now
me: Well, keeping the battery isn't a bad idea, anyway.
Kamran: but it has poo in it
me: Clean it!
Kamran: --puke--
Listen, it hasn't been that long since I reached bare-handed into a pool of my own lukewarm feces. I'm still a little sensitive.
me: Man up.
Bear Grylls does this sort of thing every day.
Kamran: I'm SO gonna poo on you in your sleep tonight
maybe i'll poo in a bag, slip it up over your hand, and affix it with a rubber band, so as to avoid getting the bed dirty

Later That Night

We stopped by his office after dinner, and he revealed that he was keeping the poo-stained BlackBerry in his desk drawer:

When he threw it in the trash a moment later, the little red message light at the top stayed on, and we imagined some poor cleaning lady fishing it out, thinking that it was still working and that she'd made a real find. Mwahahahaha.
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